All Alone
by funky-guitar-babe-9
Summary: A rather unusual woman loses her family to a mysterious team of assassins; now, it is up to the NCIS team to find out who and why, before the only witness joins the current victims. Rated T because of adult themes, more intense later. Please R&R!
1. Lonely down there

This is my first story, it's a kind of tragedy/crime-type thing...basically, it's about a woman who loses her family, and the NCIS team has to try and find out who and why. Enjoy!

Disclaimer:I do not own NCIS, no matter how hard I try...the only character in this story that I do own is Nicole.

* * *

"Where is she?"

"Interrogation, the same place she has been for the past three hours."

"Why?"

"Because I put her there, DiNozzo. Because unlike some people, she is obedient. Ish."

"Right, boss. It's just – well – I know she's not part of the team, and all, but maybe she could help…given the circumstances?"

"Would you want to watch a group of people you hardly know investigate a case that's rapidly going cold? Especially one involving your own family?"

"I see your point, boss, but, I think she might be kinda lonely down th-"

"_Of course_ she's _lonely_, DiNozzo, she just lost her entire family! But, I fail to see what we can do about that."

With that, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs turned on his heel and marched towards the elevator, pressing the button for the basement with the intention of visiting Ducky, in the vain hope that something had been discovered. Halfway down, however, he changed his mind, stopping the elevator to try and clear his scattered thoughts. All he could think was just how like him this woman was, how similar their experiences were. How she was all alone, in danger, most probably scared, and most definitely shattered, in every sense of the world.

Flipping the switch, the elevator shuddered to life again, carrying him down to interrogation. Perhaps he should give her some company; after all, she probably was lonely down there.


	2. Why they're gone

AN: The chapters will get longer, I promise! Right now it's short bits of info, before the real action starts...we hope...

* * *

"You still haven't told me why, Special Agent Gibbs."

"I don't know. Yet."

"You put me in this room! Surely you have a reason for it, or does it just amuse you?"

Gibbs stared at the woman across the desk from him. She reminded him of someone, but he just couldn't place it. An ex-wife? She was a redhead, after all. Maybe more auburn than red, but still…

"Erm…are you listening, or has your mind gone out to lunch? I don't mind either way, but if it has, can it bring me back some coffee?"

He suppressed a smile. Nope, definitely not an ex-wife – not violent or scary enough. Who, then?

"Special Agent Gibbs, I would really appreciate it if you would answer me instead of staring at me! I have no problem with it – which is good, seeing as Agent DiNozzo up there appears to have some sort of built-in lack of control – but could you at least say one word?"

"What would you like me to say? Why you're in here? Why you can't go home yet? Why I keep watching you? Why DiNozzo stares at every sk-"

"No." Nikki said, quietly, with a much more serious tone. "Why they're gone."


	3. Do I know you?

"So, Probie, what do you think of the lovely lady downstairs

"So, Probie, what do you think of the _lovely_ lady downstairs?"

"DiNozzo! I can't believe you!"

"What? C'mon, Kate, don't pretend you don't see it. She's gorgeous! Like a taller, red-headed Marilyn Monroe. She's-"

"Just lost her husband and son." Kate supplied in a disgusted tone. "Honestly, DiNozzo, you can't control yourself at all! You have some sort of sickness!"

"Kate does have a point," McGee added. "She's in a very vulnerable state right now, and you can't go chasing after a woman who just lost so much, it wouldn't be, y'know, right, or…" he tailed off, watching DiNozzo step towards him.

_Whack!_

"Hey, what was that for?"

"For thinking that I would actually go after someone connected to a case, especially one in such a – how did you put it – vulnerable place."

"Sorry, Tony, it's just, y'know, the way you were talking about her…"

"Probie. She's gorgeous. But, I can control myself."

Kate snorted derisively, then returned to her desk, picked up a file, and began reading again. It had been four days now, and no headway had been made into this case. Four days was a long time, and with only one witness – the woman downstairs, a bereaved wife and mother – it was starting to look impossible. Not that they were going to tell Gibbs that.

The other two agents returned to their desks, just as Gibbs entered the bullpen, carrying a fresh cup of coffee. He set it down on his desk and stabbed his finger into the button on his computer without saying a word, glaring at it as it flared into life. Why couldn't he place her? Just who did she remind him of so much, and why did he feel like he knew her so well? It had only been four days…

_In the hospital, four days previously_

"So, wait, what exactly happened, boss? I don't want to go in unprepared, I mean…it looked…awful…"

"Tony, how many times? Two petty officers and a marine, killed. No evidence, execution style, could be a professional job. She," he double checks the name on his pad, although he knows it already "Nicole Freeman, entered the sealed container with her son, we don't know why yet. The three others were already too far gone to be saved, and, for reasons we have yet to understand, her son ended up dead, but she escaped with a severe gunshot wound to the abdomen. She was brought to Bethesda, operated on, and survived. Just. Now, we go and find out what actually happened in that container."

"Boss?"

"What?"

"Why didn't anybody hear the gunshots?"

"It was a soundproof bunker, DiNozzo, used for testing out weapons without causing alarm to passers-by on the base."

"Oh. Wait, this is her room, isn't it?"

Gibbs glanced again at the notes in his hand, nodded, and entered the room.


	4. I believe you

A/N: This is the back story, of what happened, with Nicole/Nikki one and the same explaining the back story. This is where it gets more mature-themed, with a little language, and violence, so don't read if you don't like that kind of thing.

Please review, and let me know if I should carry on!

* * *

Neither Gibbs nor Tony were expecting what they saw when they entered the room of the recently bereaved, just out of surgery Ms Freeman. They both expected a sorrowful, tearful little woman, lying down, looking pale, sickly and, well, in hell. What they saw instead was a vibrant, healthy-looking auburn haired beauty, sitting up in bed, arguing with a cowering nurse. The two agents exchanged a look, then attempted to announce themselves.

"I'm Special Agent Gi-"

"No! Are you even listening?"

"My name is Special Ag-"

"I'm the one who had surgery, I should be looking more scared than you!"

"We're from NC-"

"Would you just stay still and listen? Please?"

"Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Ma'am."

Nicole Freeman changed her focus from the frightened looking nurse to the silver-haired man who had just raised his voice, and called her ma'am. In the same sentence.

"If, Ms Freeman, I could just interject-"

"Provided you don't make a mess on the floor, yes."

Tony snorted, liking this woman already. Gibbs frowned at him.

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind." She flicked her gaze over to the nurse, trying to edge her way behind Gibbs and out of the door.

"Coffee, or nothing. Yes, I know you can't…oh, just go!" Her stare returned to the two agents, and she smiled. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, ma'am, from NCIS. That's Na-"

"I know what it stands for! My husband is – was – a naval officer"

"Sorry, ma'am, I know-"

"And don't call me ma'am; I have a name I tend to use in situations not requiring such formality."

"Which would be?" Gibbs asked, before DiNozzo completely keeled over at the site of the woman getting out of bed

"Nicole. Nikki. Whichever, I have no real preference. Wait, yes I do – call me Nikki, please, Agent Gibbs."

"Jethro"

"Right…why did your parents name you that? Sense of humour, or just good taste in music?"

"Music?"

"Y'know, organised sound? Jethro Tull, he was…never mind, I recognise that glazed look. Carry on, Sp – Jethro."

At the use of his first name, Gibbs almost flinched. Why had he asked her to use it? Oh no…maybe DiNozzo was rubbing off on him. No, no…DiNozzo was still ogling Nikki, and he had far more self-control.

"Now, I know this is difficult for you…"

"Do you?"

He chose to ignore that remark. In truth he did, but telling her would do no good.

"I need you to tell me everything you know."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Well, take a seat, this could take a while."

Gibbs obliged, and signalled to Tony, who picked up his jaw, replaced it, wiped the drool off his tie and sat down next to the bed.

"Right…I'll start from the beginning."

"Just tell me what you can, in your own time."

"OK. The idea of having a tremolo system fitted to a guitar came from the use of-"

"Nikki?"

"You said 'everything I know'. I know a lot about music, I'm a very sad person."

Gibbs paused to consider the woman again. It was impossible to tell if she was doing really well, or really badly. Either her natural sense of humour was showing through, or she was blocking out the reality of what had just happened.

"It's a bit of both," she told him.

"What?"

"Partly my sense of humour, partly denial. You can stare at me all day – but I think that you employed this particular agent," she gestured to DiNozzo, who cleared his throat and averted his gaze "to do that. Or, you could ignore my eccentricity, and I will try to do the same, and listen."

"If you could tell me about the events that took place yesterday, I'd be very glad to hear it."

She nodded, and smiled. Gibbs returned her grin, then wondered why. She seemed familiar, and intuitive, and friendly, and she had let someone finish a sentence for a change. He was, at least, starting to get somewhere.

"Right. I was preparing my son's breakfast at 0700, and doing my own – which reminds me, I need milk. And celery. Anyway, I was making breakfast, and trying to get ready to go and meet my husband at the same time – no mean feat with an eighteen month old boy."

"What time, and where?"

"The base. 0830. In that bloody soundproof bunker, because he and his buddies wanted to show me something."

"What was it?"

"I don't know. And somehow, I doubt that I ever will. So, I had breakfast, fed my son, removed the apple sauce from the window – don't ask, he has – had – a very strong throwing arm – and got him dressed in his, or maybe my, favourite outfit."

"So then you left?"

"No, I had to stab myself repeatedly in the eye with a mascara brush, get powder on my bedroom carpet, and give my son my best lipstick. Then I had to remove the car keys from my ridiculously small jacket pocket, and then and only then could I leave. At 0815."

"When did you arrive at the bunker?"

"0825. I walked down to meet them, had a fight with the door of that thing, was given the key by the guy that had just buzzed me in, and entered the corridor of the bunker. Then I walked down to the door Danny – that's my husband's name – had told me, and opened the door."

For the first time, Nikki hesitated, clearly not wanting to relive the horror of that morning.

"Nikki?" Gibbs ventured gently, trying to rouse the woman into telling the rest of the story. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"Ummm…yeah, sure, sorry. So anyway, I picked my son up – there's only so far that a kid his age can walk –sorted out my hair and everything, and opened the door."

She inhaled, and both agents watched the blood drain from her face, and her heart rate increase on the monitor at the side of her hospital bed.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs hissed to his senior agent, "go get her a drink."

"Yes boss," he replied, and left the room.

"I'm fine," Nikki said sharply, waving for Tony to sit back down. "Are you going to let me finish?"

"Of course. Go on."

"I opened the door at pretty much 0830 precisely. I hate being late. It took a minute register what was going on, as the door swung shut behind me – it's a very high-tech room – and then it did. Register."

"What did you see?"

"Three bodies," now Nikki was speaking calmly again, her voice perfectly level, yet somehow detached – as if she were recounting a story of some other person's loss. "My husband – I was pretty sure that he was dead – his best friend, and the marine, a third guy that I hardly even knew. They were, well, lying on the floor. Woulda been peaceful, had it not been for the bullet holes in their foreheads."

Still calm, still detached, at least on the outside, Nikki paused for breath, and Gibbs did something that surprised all three of them. He took her hand, and softly requested that she continue, if she could, if it wasn't too much. She squeezed his hand a little, then put on a determined face, and carried on.

"I ran. And part of me hates myself for trying to leave, but, well, I could see that there was nothing I could do. Actually, that's a lie. I thought I might have been able to help at least one of them, but…my priorities had to change. I had to get my son out. And then…and then…and…"

Tears started to flow down her cheeks, and Gibbs held her hand tighter, then pulled her into a hug. Tony left to grab her a drink, but as he crossed the threshold, she pulled away from Gibbs, wiped her face, and began to speak.

"Sorry, I just…got a little carried away…"

"Nikki, it's OK, considering what just happened to you…"

"I'm telling you a story. I'm good at stories, I can ramble forever, on, and on, and on, and…see, I'm doing it now!"

Despair turned to anger, and she sat up straighter, tugging her hand out of Gibbs' grip.

"I screamed. I never scream, but that time, I did. I yelled for help, then remembered that that damn bunker was soundproofed. I tried to reach the door, but I just couldn't. One of the bastards was in my way, and he raised this gun – I don't know what it was, but it looked like a semi-automatic with something on it – and then I don't know. I guess I blacked out."

"You were shot."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"I know-"

"Sorry, I know you're just trying to help. The last thing I remember was thinking that it was over, and…being glad."

"Glad?"

"I had seen my husband's body, and I felt the first bullet. The one that should of hit me, but…but…it didn't. The second one did, though…and then I just felt this overwhelming tiredness, like it was so awful, but it was over…and I was glad that it was, so happy that I didn't have to live through losing my family, and now…now…I'm here on this godforsaken, miserable, crappy planet, all alone! Why?"

The last sentences were punctuated by infuriated sobs, and spoken at a gradually increasingly volume until she practically yelled the last words at him. She took a deep breath, seemed to physically gather herself together, then bowed her head.

"Sorry. I just…I…ummm…I don't know. Jethro? Next question?"

He considered leaving it there, but decided instead to pursue one last question.

"Can you describe 'the bastards'?"

She smiled a little, tearfully, at his use of her description.

"Unfortunately, no. I wish I could, but it was, well, blurry. And they were dressed like…this is gonna sound ridiculous…almost Ninja-style?"

She giggled nervously, then tried to explain.

"They were masked, wearing all black, and…I don't know how they got in or out, but they did, I don't know who they were or what happened to them, but…I hope they die, is all I can say. Whoever 'they' is."

"How many?"

"Three. Do you need anything else?"

"Yeah. For you to get some rest, and deal with this. Don't block it out, and never, ever be afraid to cry," he told her softly, arm around her shaking shoulders. "And if ever you need anything," he handed her his card, "you call me. I'll be back tomorrow to talk to you, and when you're discharged, I would like you to come to NCIS with me. But we can discuss all that later."

Gibbs removed his arm, tried to smile at her, failed, then turned to leave. As he reached the doorway, she called out to him.

"Jethro?"

"I promise you I'll find them, and they will…get what they deserve."

"I believe you."


	5. Home with me

A/N: Back in the interrogation room, where Nikki has been whilst the team work on the case. I know there's a lot of dialogue, but it seems that most of the story is in the dialogue at the moment…there will be more prose later!

Oh yeah…I don't own The Jungle Book, either. I should probably say that, since it's very briefly referenced. It rocks, though…

* * *

The first thing Gibbs heard when he entered the interrogation room was drumming. Loud drumming.

"What are you doing?"

"Drumming," she said, like everyone did it when sat in interrogation.

"Why?"

"Oh man, what a beat, what a beat…c'mon, that was good!"

"What was?"

"My Baloo impersonation…admit it, it was good."

"Baloo?"

"The Jungle Book? The big bear, the one Bagheera…oh, never mind. It was my favourite film when I was a kid."

"Oh. Right. Well…I have news."

At this, Nikki sat up straighter, and stopped the repetitive, if rhythmical, hammering on the table.

"News?"

"Yeah…from the hospital…they said that they got your test results back, and they're all clear, no infection or – that's a good thing, y'know," he added, noticing her dejected look.

"I know it's a good thing, but…I don't actually care. Have you found-"

"No. Not yet," he moved closer to her, and turner her around to face him. "But we will, and that's a promise."

"I know, you've told me…it's just…well…heh, you're very close to me, it's a little scary…"

He moved back a couple of inches, but still close enough to study those eyes in exquisite detail. All he saw was sadness…and still, he just couldn't place her. Did he know her?

"I know, four days. I'll find them. And justice will be done."

"Justice? Wow, that sounds very…erm…crime film-y. Or action film-y. Or…I don't know, something-y."

"Yeah…well…listen, do you want to come up to the squad room? There's no sense in you sitting down here alone. You can't actually get involved in the case, but we're leaving off in a half an hour."

"We?"

"Yes, we. You can't go home alone," she looked up at him, frustration showing in her face. "No. You are not going back home until we find out who is responsible for this, and if they really are out to get you."

"But where am I going-"

"Home. With me. To my house. You can't live at NCIS, I'm afraid."

"Fine. But…I should point out…I'm really really really annoying to live with."

"I've had three wives, you'll have to do better than annoying."

"I straighten coasters."

"What?"

"You'll see."

* * *

So, should I continue? Please review and let me know what you think!


	6. Freakishly straight coasters

"Remind me," Gibbs muttered to himself, in between sips of bourbon

"Remind me," Gibbs muttered to himself, in between sips of bourbon. "To never, ever, _ever_ doubt a woman who says she's hard to live with."

In fairness to Nikki, the house was cleaner than it had been in some years. And…well…parallel. Every coater, bookshelf, magazine rack or any solid object had been straightened. The square coasters on the coffee table were neatly lined up, with straight edges. Before, he hadn't even bothered with coasters on the rare occasion he even went into the lounge. Now – some sort of tidying whirlwind had swept his house. For several hours she had tidied up, for no reason, simply asking if there was anything she couldn't touch, then just getting on with it.

"Nikki!" Gibbs called up the stairs from the basement, wondering what the crashing sounds emanating from upstairs were.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

Face framed by loose strands of auburn hair, her dress still spotless but the heels kicked off, presumably when she had ventured underneath the kitchen cabinets, Nikki appeared at the top of the basement stairs.

"Cooking."

"Cooking?"

"Yeah, it's that thing that people do. Y'know, people who – like me – prefer not to live off takeaway."

"What's the problem with takeaway?"

"I like it – occasionally – but living of it makes me feel awful. So, I'm cooking dinner. Which will be ready in twenty minutes."

"Twenty-"

"Yes, twenty. Though it's your choice when you come up, I'll keep it warm," she reassured him, then headed back to the kitchen.

_What was that? _Gibbs wondered. _The last time a woman cooked for me – when it wasn't a special occasion – I nearly got poisoned…_

It took Gibbs an hour to finish his bourbon, and the tweaking on the side of the boat, wash up and enter his kitchen. A stack of pans sat on the draining board, drip-drying, and something smelt…well…fantastic. More than a little curious, he started looking for Nikki, who was nowhere to be seen.

He found her in his lounge once again, on the sofa, reading. She looked perfectly relaxed, coffee in one hand, book in the other, one dangerously high heel dangling from a stockinged foot, the other tucked neatly against the coffee table, with its freakishly straight coasters. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway and smiled, compelling him to move closer to her.

"Ready for dinner?"

"Uh, sure…smells great…what – what are you doing?"

"At the moment? Going to serve dinner."

"No," he said, pushing her back down onto the sofa. "In general. What are you doing?"

"Oh, you mean my turning into a cross between an OCD neat-freak, maid-without-the-outfit, and the Tasmanian devil from Looney Tunes?"

He grinned slightly as the image of the outfit she had casually mentioned floated into his mind, then shook it out again when he realised that she was in it. _Not good…you're turning into DiNozzo around this woman…_

"Jethro? You on vacation or something?"

The sound of her slightly sarcastically amused voice brought him back from the recesses of his mind, and he looked at her once again, thankfully, this time, without considering the maid's outfit.

"Assuming you are actually back, can we go eat?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"It makes me feel better. When bad stuff happens, I cook. Once, I made seven pints of ice cream because I had had a bad week and a lot of cream and eggs to use up."

"Doesn't explain the cleaning."

"I cleaned up because since becoming a mother I've had to be very careful about hygiene, and I straightened things up because I hate things that aren't all lined up. I also hate people eating noisily, bad manners, chewing gum, bad grammar, not having a ruler-"

"Huh? Not having a ruler?"

"Yeah, it really annoyed me when I was younger, whenever I needed a ruler for something, I couldn't find one. When I didn't…it's not important. Now, can we go eat?"

"Sure," he told her, "if you promise that you'll sit down after dinner, instead of being insane."

"Awwww…can't I do both?"

He laughed, then placed his hand on her lower back and walked her through to the kitchen.


	7. Where are your parents?

A/N: This chapter is mainly about Nikki's family, or lack of. As in, why her parents aren't there. I hope there's not too much story telling, but it should be ok – as ever, please let me know if you think I should continue!

* * *

It took Gibbs almost an hour to feel that he might actually be able to move without his stomach protesting. Usually not one to over-indulge, he had surprised himself when Nikki's offer of a second helping had been met with an unusually enthusiastic yes – it had been quite some time since he had actually trusted the cooking of a fierce redhead, usually he felt that they were trying to poison him.

So seconds had been served, then a dessert which he had intended to savour, but had also failed at that; takeaway, although convenient, was, by comparison against her cooking, a very unattractive prospect.

"Where did you learn to cook?"

"Oh, my Dad taught me a bit, so did my Mum, other relatives. I watched a lot of cookery shows, read a lot of recipe books. I love it, it's therapeutic. Plus, added bonus – people like you when you can cook…"

"Yeah, you must be popular," he muttered, and then something occurred to him. Just where were her parents? He thought carefully for a moment, then decided to voice his thoughts.

"Nikki?"

"Yeah?" she answered, her back still to him as she stood at the sink, washing dishes.

"Where are your parents? Why aren't they here, are they –"

He stopped, mid-sentence, as he saw her tense up, and take a sharp breath. She turned to face him, and he saw a mixture of anger and sadness flash across her usually benevolent face.

"We don't talk. My family lives in England, and I'm here in D.C."

"Why? What happened?"

She sighed, and sat down in the chair next to him. Gibbs started to think that maybe he should retract his question, but curiosity got the better of him.

"Just…tell me why you moved from England. What happened. Everything, really."

"Well," she started, seemingly unsure of how much to tell him. "In a nutshell, when I was 18 things got tough, because I wanted to study music at university. Because I'd always been academic as well as musical, my parents wanted me to use my brain, and not my musical ability. I went to study at the Brighton Institute of Modern Music, thoroughly pissing off my parents, but never looking back. I did a three-year degree course, stayed in Brighton for a bit, then moved to London, intent on becoming a professional musician. I did ok for myself, teaching to make a bit of money, performing in bars and at minor events, supporting a few bands, being a session musician. It wasn't what my family wanted, but I loved every second of it."

She stopped, and studied his face carefully.

"I guess this isn't gonna be 'in a nutshell'", she told him with a smile.

"No, no, carry on," he urged, so she did.

"When I was 23, an old friend, Megan, who had moved to America about ten years before, called me. She asked me if I wanted to come and visit her for her 23rd birthday party, and I said yes. I was planning to stay for a week, meet up with this old friend, and maybe meet a few new ones, then return to my life in England. I booked plane tickets, got ready to go, and three weeks later I was on my way to the airport."

Gibbs bit back the urge to ask her if this was relevant; she seemed to be enjoying relaying this story, and it was taking her mind off her current situation.

"It's kinda relevant," she said, cutting into his thoughts.

"Doesn't matter. Keep going."

"I got on the plane, flew to America, touched down at the airport and met my friend. All very nice, all very, well, unimportant. Anyway, I was staying in this hotel, with a bunch of her other friends – turns out she hadn't had a big 21st, so was making up for it now – before the party took place in the evening. At the actual event, I was introduced to a guy called Danny. He was a friend of a friend of a distant relative of Megan's, only really there because he was cute, single, and very charming. Not from Megan's point of view – she already had a boyfriend – just because it's nice to have a guy like that at a party, and he happened to be in town."

"Danny as in your husband Danny?" he asked her tentatively.

"Yep, the very same. We spent quite a lot of the night together – he liked the same bands as me, had heard of Stevie Ray Vaughan and agreed with me that Clapton is overrated…what?" she asked at his bemused look.

"Errr…never mind. Keep going."

"So, Danny and I chatted and danced for a lot of the night – he was a dynamite dancer, by the way – and he told me all about himself. A Petty Officer at the time, hoping to one day become a Navy Seal. He lived in D.C., his life centred around the Navy, and he was, well, very funny, very charming, and – as you can probably tell – I fell completely in love with him. And, he later told me, he felt the same. So, the typical, whirlwind, sappy love story."

"Where do your parents come in to all of this?" Gibbs asked, confused as to what this had to do with her family.

"I returned home after a week spent with Megan and Danny. He called me a lot – expensive, considering the whole different-country issue – and we emailed back and forth. He managed to come over for a visit, and asked me to come and live with him in D.C. The thought of saying no never crossed my mind, so I called my parents, already distant from me by this point, to tell them. They hated the idea, I told them, in rather colourful language, that I didn't care, and left. We hardly ever spoke. When Danny and I got engaged, they were even more distant – they didn't even come to the wedding, and only met him once, just before. We have hardly spoken since 2004, when I came over here at the age of 24. We settled down, had a child, he worked, I looked after Johnny, our son…"

Here, her voice cracked, and Gibbs knew what was coming next.

"While I was unconscious after surgery, the doctor called to tell them what had happened. They said that they had nothing to do with me, and they won't come over. I don't care – I loved my parents as a kid, but we grew apart, I changed. I was the city socialite with my head in the clouds, they wanted a homely country girl to help on the farm."

"So they aren't going to help you?"

"No. And neither are Danny's family. We were close, but they blame me for what happened and…well…that's my story. Apologies for boring you to tears, but you made the mistake of asking."

"Don't apologise, it's a sign of weakness. And, long as that story was – I'm glad I now know who you are," he told her, and a smile, albeit one tinged with grief, crossed her face.

"Y'know," he said, as the two of them carried freshly made coffee through to the lounge. "You're really going to like Dr. Mallard. I think you're going to have a lot in common, if either of you ever get a word in edgeways…"


	8. Left handed bass player

A/N: Here is the meeting of Nikki and Ducky for you Ela, since you said you wanted to read it :-)

As ever, please R&R!

* * *

"Jethro! What can I do for you today?"

"Got anything that can help us with the case?"

"No, no, Mr. Palmer isn't in until midday, and technically I'm not here – I can do no more until Abby can give me the results of the tests I ordered."

"Then, Ducky, are you doing anything at the moment? Any bodies out?"

"Only one, from another case, but it's covered up. Why?"

"Keep an eye on Nikki, I'm still not sure that she's safe."

"Of course, send her in."

Gibbs put the phone down and looked over to where a mildly amused Nikki sat, twisting on a swivel chair in the latest jaw-dropping outfit. Much as the team enjoyed her company – Tony was, at the moment, trying to impress her with tales of his escapades, and failing – she was a distraction. To be fair, anyone in a pencil skirt so tight you could practically see what she had had for breakfast was a distraction, not to mention the shirt tied off at her slender waist. It did, at least, explain why DiNozzo was drooling on his tie, something Nikki had picked him up on earlier, much to the amusement of everyone but Tony.

"Nikki!"

She spun around to face him, grinning.

"Yeah?"

"I'm taking you down to Autopsy."

"Hey, I know I'm a little pale this morning, but it's not that bad…"

"There's someone I'd like you to meet. Dr. Mallard, our M.E. He can keep an eye on you, and we can get on with the case without worrying about what you're hearing, or about DiNozzo's drool ruining the paperwork."

Tony grinned sheepishly, then feigned hurt as the auburn-haired woman rose out of her seat and followed Gibbs to the elevator. The doors opened on to the basement, and the pair stepped out, walking down the corridor and into Autopsy.

Ducky was sitting at his desk, looking over the autopsy reports for the current case when a swishing noise indicated that someone had entered the room. He stood up, and was greeted by the beautiful redhead on Gibbs' arm – a sight he was actually fairly accustomed to, except this one didn't seem to have hit him with any hard implements.

"Dr. Mallard, I presume?" she asked him, extending her hand and smiling.

"Yes, and please, do call me Ducky. You would be Nikki?" he replied, lifting her hand to his lips, deciding that old-fashioned courtesy was the most appropriate greeting, considering her attractively retro attire.

She smiled at that and inclined her head, as he showed her to a seat and began to make tea.

"I can see that you have a fondness for coffee," he said, indicating the cup in her hand, "but would you like some tea?"

"Of course."

"So, tell me a little about yourself?"

"Well, what is there to tell…you're investigating the deaths of my family, I am, at present, staying with Jethro, and am trying to figure out what to do with my life."

"Yes," he smiled. "I know how you feel. I remember when I was growing up as a young lad – I had always wanted to be a doctor, but I wasn't quite sure where to go. I started looking around, and…"

Gibbs, who was still lurking at the back of the room, smiled as his old friend launched into one of his stories whilst preparing the tea, then turned and left.

"So what happened to him?" Nikki asked, gesturing to the body under the sheet at the back of the room. Ducky hesitated for a moment – sharing information about a case was not his real concern here, but he was never quite sure how somebody would react to gruesome details.

"Well…he was, or so it appears, beaten to death. We have no real knowledge of him – he's a John Doe, meaning that-"

"I know what it means," she said with a smile. "Tell me," she urged, "what happened? Curiosity always was my downfall"

"My dear, although they say curiosity killed the cat – do you know the etymology of that phrase?"

"No," she said, and prompted him into telling her.

"Well, originally, care, meaning worry or sorrow, was said to kill the cat…" he began, glad to have got her mind of the unfortunate fate of the body in the corner.

"Fascinating," she said, when she had finished. "But you never did tell me what happened to the guy in the corner? Assuming that it wasn't curiosity, I'm no closer to knowing."

And before he could stop her, she had jumped up, surprisingly fast in her heels, and was standing expectantly by the side of the covered cadaver.

Ducky, by this stage, had given up on trying to keep the hands of what appeared to be a very curious six-year-old in a woman's body away from the body. He turned to face her, looking more serious than she had ever seen him, and said:

"You are aware that this is a corpse? The stitching is closed, but it's still a gruesome sight."

"Ducky, I saw the body of my husband, I _watched_ my son being murdered, I'm sure that I can deal with a stranger," she told him.

He sighed, reminded her that she could never tell anyone other than Gibbs, whose case this was – non-employees technically shouldn't e viewing the body – handed her some gloves, then lifted away the sheet to reveal the broken and bruised body of what had once been a man.

Ducky was expecting her to recoil in shock, but only a brief look of pity passed her face as she looked down on the body, before it was replaced with interest.

"Show me!" she instructed him, and he did, gingerly lifting the hands of the John Doe, turning them over, explaining the haemorrhaging, the contusions and cuts to a surprisingly fascinated Nikki.

"But I can't seem to explain these calluses on his right fingertips. We were thinking that it could be construction work, but then they would be on both"

"May I?"

"Of course," he said, not thinking that she would actually touch the body. But she did, and lifted the lifeless right hand up, turning it over gently to inspect the fingertips.

"I have calluses like that, only not as pronounced," she mused, to Ducky's surprise. "And on my other hand, of course. I would say that he plays bass guitar, and is left handed."

"How in the world do you know that?" Gibbs asked, surprising them both with his stealthy entry.

"Look," she said, showing the two men the fingertips of her left hand. "Those calluses are from constant pressure of strings on my fingers – I play guitar," she supplied at their bemused looks.

"Oh, of course. Other hand, though?"

"He's a left-handed player. And, the calluses are thicker, so I'd say that he was a bass player, they have more stress on their fingers because of the heavier gauge strings. What?" she questioned them, as Nikki realised that both Gibbs and Ducky were looking at her in surprise.

"Nothing, it's just – you seem to have a natural investigative talent," Ducky told her, smiling.

"Thank you. It's only from my personal experiences that I know that. I hope it helps," she finished with a cheeky grin.

"I think it most likely will. I'll be back later, Ducky, but for now, I need a word with Nikki."

She nodded, said her goodbyes to Ducky, then followed Gibbs out the door, to the elevator, and into interrogation.


	9. My anniversary present

A/N: Sorry this one's taken so long, been busy! Please review, let me know if it's worth continuing this one.

* * *

"You don't have to do this, you know," Gibbs told her as they walked up the drive to Number 7, 13th Street, Washington D.C. The house of Nikki and her now deceased family.

"I haven't even been here at all since Wednesday. So yes, I do."

She had taken to referring to the events that had taken place as simply 'Wednesday'. He understood, and it appeared that Nikki did not want to know anyone who didn't.

Gibbs sighed, and followed her up to the steps of her house. Her stubbornness again reminded him of someone, but he still couldn't quite place it. The confident walk, a cross between an almost-swagger and a gentle swaying of the hips was strangely familiar, and very becoming for that matter. There were other things too; not physically, although the red hair and pale skin reminded him of so many very familiar women. Certain mannerisms, certain phrases, and her attitude, all made him think of one single person. Who, however, he could not say.

"Jethro?" she asked, her rich, unusually low voice breaking into his thoughts. "You ready?"

"Are you?"

"Of course. Now, I'm warning you, I left in a hurry on Wednesday, so my house isn't gonna be as neat as I would like. And you should probably avoid the nursery; Johnny thinks it's hilarious to hurl everything he can reach at the walls. Reminds me of me."

Although he tried not to let it show, Nikki's use of present tense when referring to her son concerned Gibbs. She did the same when talking about her husband. It appeared that her coping mechanism was to just totally block out everything that was happening to her; it explained her remarkable calm, but was most definitely not a healthy way of managing. Still, it was a familiar scenario to him.

He watched her turn her key in the lock of the strong oak door, bearing down on them, and push it open steadily. He came up behind Nikki, slipping one strong, masculine hand around her narrow, feminine waist, as if hoping to lend her some of his strength to get through this ordeal.

Since their last conversation in interrogation, Nikki had been bent on returning to her house to pick up her things. He had told her about his fears for her safety, and had insisted on her staying at his until the case was over. Although this was unorthodox, nobody had picked him up on it; Ducky just gave him a knowing smile, although he didn't actually know just why Gibbs had such empathy for Nikki's situation.

Again, he was pulled out of his thoughts by Nikki's insistent tugging on his arm; she practically pulled him through the door and into her hallway.

"So what's going on today?" McGee asked the other two agents standing around the plasma screen. He looked from one to the other, wishing that they would pay attention for once instead of bickering.

"Huh, Probie?"

"I said, what's going on? With the case? It's been days, no lead, and the trail is going c-"

Kate shushed him, and returned to staring at the screen.

"The Boss is with Nikki, she's going to pick up some stuff at her house. Gibbs won't let her out of his sight after that suspected shooter yesterday," Tony told him as he studied the photos taken at the original crime scene, and in the alleyway where their protectee had nearly been shot whilst getting coffee with Gibbs.

"D'ya think she's gonna be OK? I mean, going back to her house, and all…she seems OK, but it must be hard for her," McGee continued.

Tony sighed.

"I don't know, McGee. She's not OK – how could she be – but Gibbs is with her, so nothing's gonna happen. Now, go and interview the guy from the café again, and take Kate...there was definitely something suspicious about him."

Nikki took step after step down her hall, with Gibbs alongside her, ready to catch her or take her outside if she needed it.

"I'm fine," she told him curtly, and quickened her pace, high heels clicking smartly into what he assumed was her kitchen. Inside were, indeed, kitchen furnishings, all neatly tidied into place. She replaced a spoon in the drawer and moved on, back into her hallway then up the stairs. Gibbs went to follow her, but at the look she shot him over her shoulder, he decided to respect her privacy and remain downstairs.

"I'll chuck some stuff in a bag, and I'll be right down. Make yourself a cup of coffee or something, make yourself comfortable. Ignore suspicious stains; worrying over if that really is chocolate will do you no good," she finished with a cheeky grin, then disappeared up the stairs.

"Wow," he muttered to himself as he watched her ascend, and then made his way into what he hoped was the living room. Seeing all the coasters lined up, and the magazine rack immaculate, he smiled slightly. A smile which soon left his face as he saw a child's toy haphazardly thrown against a sofa arm, and an upturned book left on the side of a chair; a reminder that an entire family, not just one bereaved woman, had once lived here.

Fifteen minutes later, Nikki had still not appeared. Growing concerned, Gibbs started to call out to her, but then thought the better of it, deciding instead to go up and check if she was alright. Drawing his gun and concealing it against his leg, he started to silently climb the stairs, looking into each room cautiously until he came to a master bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Pushing it open and preparing himself to defend his protectee from whatever dirtbag was trying to hurt her, he leapt round the door, started to identify himself, and then stopped. On the floor was Nikki, her hands locked around something small in her hand, hair falling in her eyes, makeup smudged, sobbing quietly into her tightly clasped hands.

Gibbs, realising that she was in no immediate physical danger, slowly approached her, knelt down beside her, and placed one comforting hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She turned in towards him, and he pulled her into his chest, arms around her as she sobbed. After a moment, she pulled herself away, straightened her clothes and hair and looked at him.

"I'm, uh, sorry about that," she mumbled. "It's just, I, uh, I found this. In his cupboard drawer. It was going to be my anniversary present, he bought it before…everything…he couldn't have-"

Gibbs cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't worry about it," he told her earnestly. "It's OK, really."

Nikki attempted a watery smile, then turned her back to him. She motioned for him to come closer, and fasten what he now saw was the delicate clasp of a necklace around her throat. He obliged, carefully, and only when she turned to face him, now composed again, did he see the inscription on a white gold heart-shaped locket:

_Your Guardian Angel, to watch over you and remind you that you are eternally loved. __Luke and Johnny._


End file.
